


With You, Always

by acupforslytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dreams, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Era, Hurt/Comfort, Lullabies, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Non-Explicit Sex, TasteofSmut 2020, hearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25083781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acupforslytherin/pseuds/acupforslytherin
Summary: All his life, Harry repeatedly hears one same calming tune in his dreams. No one seems to recognize the mysterious song, until one day, Harry catches Malfoy humming it when he thinks he's alone.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 81
Kudos: 1004
Collections: Taste of Smut Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tasteofshapes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasteofshapes/gifts).



> To Rae, I hope I did your interesting prompt justice. I adored the idea and I just _had_ to make it soulmate au because I'm that kind of writer apparently XD
> 
> Huge thanks to [GallifreyisBurning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyisBurning/pseuds/GallifreyisBurning) for meticulously betaing this work and saving me from many embarrassing grammatical errors. You're the best! Also, thanks to [VeelaWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeelaWings/pseuds/VeelaWings) for alpha reading the first chapter and convincing me that the soulmate concept makes enough sense. Lastly, kudos for Taste of Smut mods for organizing this fest. I had a lot of fun writing this!

**1987**

_ “Why are you crying?” _

_ Harry looked up from where he buried his face in his bony hands, and promptly frowned in confusion. His vision was still blurry from the tears in his eyes, but he could see that he was no longer in his tiny, cramped cupboard. It was bright, almost a little too bright, as the sun shone strongly above his head. He was outdoors, Harry thought, bemused. He sat in the middle of what seemed like a lush garden, filled with flowers in various colors and covered completely in thick, green grasses. He faintly caught the smell of freshly cut lemons in the air. _

_ His eyes soon fixed on another person with him in the garden, the one asking him a question. The boy stood a few feet in front of him, curiously peering at Harry’s crouching position. He was a little smaller than Harry, but he looked about the same age. The color of his hair was so light it was almost white and his two chubby cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the sun. He tilted his head and raised his pale eyebrows quizzically. _

_ Harry, still hiccupping with short sobs, could only stare right back at him. _

_ The blond boy took small steps toward him and kneeled on the grass, offering him one stubby hand. Still confused, Harry hesitantly took it. The boy beamed. _

_ “It’s okay, Harry, I’m here with you,” the boy said, a small smile curved in his red lips. _

_ “How did you know my name?” Harry asked. “Who are you?” _

_ “Of course I know your name!” he exclaimed, voice high, as though excited. “I’m your friend, Harry. My name is Draco.” _

_ Draco? That was a weird name. Harry was even more confused now. “You’re my friend? How are you my friend? I… I don’t have any friends.” _

_ “Well, now you have me,” Draco said easily. “Is that why you were crying before? Because you think you don’t have any friends? I reckon it would be very lonely if you don’t have anyone to play with.” _

_ “Uh…” Harry blinked away the remainder of tears from his eyes to look at the smiling boy in front of him. “Yes? It… it is terribly lonely. I played alone this evening and I… I accidentally broke one of Aunt Petunia’s flower pots. She was so mad… she sent me to my cupboard without dinner after that. She said freaks shouldn’t be sitting at the table with her family, and I—” He was interrupted by another fresh sob bubbling from his chest. _

_ The smile on Draco’s face was wiped out, replaced by an upset frown. “Your aunt is a terrible person, Harry.” The displeasure was clear in his tone. _

_ “Not only Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley also call me a freak… maybe I am—” _

_ “You’re not a freak!” Draco interjected firmly, looking incredibly cross. _

_ Harry stared at Draco’s scowling face. “How do you know? We haven’t been friends for long. And… and they are grown-ups, or at least Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon are, they must know more than we do.” _

_ “What do you mean how do I know?” Draco’s voice was so high he almost shrieked as though he was offended by the notion. “I know you’re not a freak because I  _ know  _ you. We’ve been friends for longer than you ever imagined, Harry. We’ve been friends since forever, and we’ll always be friends for another forever.” _

_ Harry was not the brightest pupil in his class, so he was not entirely sure if Draco’s words were supposed to make sense or not. Draco seemed to be very confident, though, so maybe he was telling him the truth. “So… we’re friends? You and me? Forever? But how does that work?” _

_ “I don’t know,” the boy shrugged carelessly and tilted his head again. “Does it matter?” _

_ Does it? Harry had never had a real friend before. His classmates at school didn’t like him for some reason, while his cousin and his mates only saw him as fit to be bullied. And now, in a beautiful place that Harry had never been before, a boy he didn’t remember ever meeting told him that he was his friend all along. _

_ It was confusing, but it felt right. Right like nothing else Harry had ever felt in his life. _

_ Draco said he was his friend and his words resonated deep within him. He also said Harry was not a freak, and he believed him. Not just because he wanted it to be true, but because it felt like it was right. _

_ Tentatively, he smiled at Draco. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, feeling elated as a grin returned to the boy’s face. _

_ “Brilliant!” Draco squealed with a giggle. “Now, come on, let’s play. We can climb that wisteria tree over there; it’ll be fun, I promise.” _

_ Draco tugged his hand and dragged him all around the garden, climbing trees, picking flowers, playing chase. Harry couldn’t remember smiling so much in his life. _

_ Hours later—or maybe it had only been minutes, but Harry couldn’t be sure as the time in this garden didn’t seem to run normally—Harry lay on the ground next to Draco, body cushioned on the soft grass. Both of them were staring skyward, watching the sun slowly creep toward the horizon. They had played for a long time, but Harry couldn’t feel any tiredness in him. The only sensations he felt were pure happiness and contentment buzzing through his mind. _

_ Harry turned his head and at the same time as Draco turned his, their eyes meeting each other’s. They both grinned broadly. _

_ The grin on Draco’s face dimmed gradually. “It’s time to go,” Draco whispered. _

_ Suddenly, dread washed over Harry. “Where are you going?” _

_ “I’m not going anywhere, Harry. I’ll always be here with you. But you have to get back soon.” _

_ The idea of doing back to the Dursleys’ had never been this unpleasant. Harry contorted his face at the thought. “I don’t want to go.” _

_ “You have to,” Draco said gently. “But remember, no matter what happens in your life, I’m your friend and I’m always with you. Okay?”  _

_ Harry could only nod, mesmerized by the soft expression on Draco’s face. For some reason, he believed his promise. _

_ “Good.” Draco offered him a pleased smile. “Now close your eyes.” _

_ Not knowing why Draco asked him to do that but not wanting to refuse it, Harry shut his eyes. After a few moments of peaceful silence, Harry heard a melodious voice. _

_ Draco was singing to him. _

_ His voice was beautiful, clear and soft. Harry never had anyone sing him to sleep before, but now he understood the fuss about it. Draco’s voice was angelic, and the fact that it was Harry’s friend singing to him only made the experience so much more heavenly. The tune was not familiar, but the purpose of the song was easy to grasp. It offered reassurance. Comfort. Safety. _

_ Lulled by the sweet melody, Harry sank deeper into the darkness. _

* * *

“Are you going to sleep forever?!” A shrill voice jerked Harry from his deep slumber, followed by harsh rapping on a door.

He blinked a couple times, adjusting to the darkness. Sluggishly, his sleep addled mind recognized the screeching voice as belonging to his Aunt Petunia.

“Up, now, boy! There are dishes to be cleaned!”

“I’m awake!” Harry called from inside his cupboard, just so that the loud shrieking would stop.

It worked. From the other side of the door, Harry could hear Aunt Petunia make an annoyed sound and walk away, shouting one last order for him to get to the kitchen quickly or  _ else _ .

Despite the warning, Harry took his time, just sitting on his cot surrounded by darkness. He stroked the side of his face where his crooked glasses had pressed on all night. The fact that he had forgotten to take them off, as well as his slightly puffy eyes, reminded Harry that he had cried himself to sleep the previous night.

The memory slowly crept back to him. He had been playing alone in the backyard of Number Four Privet Drive when Dudley came marching up with three of his friends, smirking threateningly at Harry. He had tried to escape, but they had been faster to corner him. Harry remembered being afraid and things suddenly becoming blurry as one of Aunt Petunia’s pots flew right at them, only barely missing Dudley’s blond head. He remembered a lot of shouting and yelling before he’d been shoved into his damp, cramped cupboard.

Harry remembered feeling scared and helpless. He didn’t know why they had blamed him for the accident. He couldn’t have touched the pot ten meters away from him, let alone flung it at Dudley’s head. They, of course, didn’t believe him. It was completely unfair, and Harry found it in himself to be livid. Overwhelmed with the mixed emotions, he could do nothing but lie in the tiny space they put him in and cry.

After that terrible event yesterday, Harry was a bit baffled to wake up feeling calm and refreshed.  _ Happy _ , almost. He vaguely recalled having a pleasant dream, but he couldn’t remember any fragment of it.

_ Brightness _ , he thought absently.  _ It was bright, unlike here _ .

There was more to it, Harry was sure. He squeezed his eyes shut—which didn’t change much in the complete darkness of the cupboard—and tried to sink deeper into his memories. No visual appeared, but a voice stuck in the back of his mind.

A tune. A melody.

He tried to hum it quietly, feeling a flicker of faint happiness and something else wash over him again. Something that felt  _ right _ . It was odd.

Harry was still humming to himself when a shriek rang through the house. “What’s taking you so long, boy?!”

Startled from his serene bubble, Harry pushed himself to get up. “I’m coming!”

* * *

**1991**

“You seem so relaxed for your first Quidditch match, Harry.”

Harry stopped his humming to turn to Ron. “I’m not relaxed at all. I’m actually so nervous I feel like vomiting up my breakfast. And I haven’t even eaten it.” He gestured his hand toward his plate, food still untouched.

“You looked relaxed enough, singing to yourself like that,” said Ron as he shoved another fried sausage into his mouth before munching noisily. Hermione reached out from Harry’s other side to slap his shoulder for the bad table manners.

Harry smiled slightly, thinking of his favorite tune. “It’s my good luck charm, actually. Calms me every time.”

“Sounds weird, though,” Ron said with his mouthful, which earned him a glare from Hermione. He swallowed before continuing. “Never heard it. Is it a Muggle song?”

“Is it? I never heard it, either,” Hermione joined in.

“I don’t know. I don’t think it is? I kind of remembered it from my dreams,” mused Harry.

“Hmm, that’s weird,” Hermione said. “Anyway, you need to eat your breakfast, Harry! You’ll need your strength for your match. There are some Slytherins to be beaten!”

Groaning at the thought of walking onto the pitch, Harry looked down at his untouched breakfast without appetite. When his friends were distracted with their other housemates, feasting at the Gryffindor table, Harry quietly hummed his song again under his breath.

_ It’s okay _ , he thought with a smile as the familiar feeling of serenity and  _ rightness  _ slowly crept into his body.  _ It’s going to be okay _ .

* * *

**1994**

_ The garden remained exactly as it was in his memory. The grasses were as lush and thick under his fingers, the sun was as bright, the breeze still carried the faint scent of citrus. He closed his eyes and hugged his legs to his chest, curling into himself. _

_ “Harry.” _

_ That voice. That’s different from the last time, no longer high pitched and bubbly. Now, it sounded boyishly low, almost too different in his ears. But somehow it still reached right to his core, gently reassuring. _

_ He raised his head and was met with the blond boy, standing tall in front of him, looming over him with his hair falling to his face. “Malfoy.” _

_ The boy smiled at him, though his eyes seemed a little sad. “It’s Draco for you.” _

_ They stared into each other’s eyes, feeling the time frozen with them in the garden. _

_ “Cedric’s…,” Harry choked, unable to complete his sentence. _

_ Draco dropped to his knees, placing a warm palm gently on Harry’s hand. _

_ Harry could feel his throat constrict as fresh tears welled up in his eyes. “Cedric’s dead, Draco. He’s dead. And I—” _

_ “It’s not your fault, Harry,” Draco cut him off, voice soft yet firm. _

_ “You don’t understand.” Harry shook his head as the memory of the last Triwizard tournament task came crashing at him. “I told him to take the cup with me.” _

_ Frowning, Draco raised his other hand to cup Harry’s cheek, wiping away the tears he didn’t realize he’d let out. “It is not your fault.” _

_ His tone was so final that Harry couldn’t say anything else. He sat there, in the middle of a beautiful garden, choking on aborted sobs and letting out more tears as Draco pulled him close. He helplessly clutched at him in return. _

_ Harry had never wanted this. He’d never asked to be born to fulfill a prophecy, to be expected to save the world. And now, someone had lost his life because he was dragged into the cobweb of a grand, evil plan. It’s really messy, and confusing, and Harry was so,  _ so  _ tired. _

_ Draco didn’t say anything, only holding him close and letting him cry all his frustration out. Slowly, Harry’s tears stopped as he tried to breathe along with the rhythmic pulses he could feel in the crook of Draco’s neck where his face nestled. When Harry had calmed down enough, Draco moved his hand up and down his back and, quietly, started singing into his hair. _

_ That song again. The same melodious song, now being sung by a deeper voice, but still as heavenly as Harry remembered. _

_ Warmth spread through his body, slowly but surely, serenading him to tranquility. As Draco’s song came to an end, the feeling of safety had settled deeply inside him. _

_ “Better, now?” Draco whispered. _

_ “Yes, thank you,” he breathed. He pulled away from the embrace to look at Draco’s face. He still had a worried expression on him, his grey eyes searching Harry’s. Harry offered a weak smile to reassure him. “You’re here again.” _

_ Letting out a relieved breath, Draco returned his smile with a lopsided one of his own. “Of course I’m here. I promised that I’ll always be with you no matter what, right? I’m your friend, since the beginning of time and until the end of it.” _

_ Harry’s grin widened slightly as he pulled Draco close again. “And yet you made those Potter Stinks badges.” _

_ Draco laughed, unabashed and just a tad amused. “Please don’t hold a grudge against that boy, he doesn’t know better yet.” _

_ Harry sighed softly against Draco’s shoulder, pondering his words.  _ Yet  _ he said. “So there will be a time in the future when we can be like this outside this garden?” _

_ Slender fingers came up to his hair, entangling the strands. “I honestly don’t know, Harry. The fact that we are meant to be won’t make it any easier, considering everything. It will take effort from both of us.” _

_ “I wish we could just  _ know  _ that we’re meant to be. It would be so much easier,” whispered Harry. _

_ “Oh, we will know. Trust me,” Draco replied, and Harry could hear a smile in his voice. “But it takes time. And it’s likely going to be hard.” _

_ They stayed together in silence after that, basking in the sunlight and cherishing each other’s company. It was beautiful, and peaceful, until Harry broke it. “Voldemort is back.” _

_ Draco’s expression didn’t waver. “I know.” _

_ “Fudge didn’t believe me.” _

_ “Well, he isn’t the brightest Minister, is he?” Draco said lightly with a shrug. _

_ Harry stared at him. His aristocratic face and pale hair seemed to match the picturesque scenery ridiculously well. Draco was here. Draco was his friend, and he was with him. “Voldemort is back,” he repeated slowly. _

_ “Yes,” said Draco, “and it’s going to be a lot harder from here. Not only for you and I separately, because it definitely will, but also for us. It won't be as simple as me making stupid badges to mock you. It will… it will be very complicated.” He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed harshly through his mouth. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.” _

_ Harry, hating the distress in Draco’s face, took his hand and held tight. “But no matter what you’re still here with me, right?” _

_ That was enough to replace the distress with a stunning beam. “Yes. I’m here with you, always.” _

_ With all he had, Harry trusted him. He trusted him because nothing felt as right as that. It was not a promise; it was a fact. They would always be here together, safe in each other’s presence. “Sing for me?” he asked in a whisper. _

_ Still with his blinding smile on, Draco obliged. _

* * *

**1995**

Harry was leaning on the wall of Room of Requirement, watching the other members of the Dumbledore’s Army start leaving while some chatted quietly between them. It had been a good practice day—everyone had made decent progress in learning lately—but Harry couldn’t shake the anxiety nagging at his core. It was an unpleasant feeling, and lately, it had been constant. Things were getting terrifyingly serious, and now he was restless and on edge.

“That song again.”

He turned to see Ron approaching him, two girls in tow.

“What song?” Ginny piped up from his side.

“Harry’s mysterious favorite song. No one can pinpoint it,” said Ron.

Hermione slid to stand against the wall next to Harry, a book in one hand and a parchment in the other, practically shoved to her face. “I’m convinced that he made it up himself,” she said absently.

“I’m not sure Harry had the musical ability to do that,” said Ron with a snicker. He turned to his sister. “He said he heard it in his dreams.”

Luna Lovegood, who had been silently walking beside Ginny all along, suddenly gasped. “Did you really hear it in your dreams, Harry?”

Confused, Harry nodded. “Yes?”

“Oh! How wonderful!” Luna exclaimed dreamily. “That must be your soulmate singing to you.”

Harry raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Soulmate?”

Without any subtlety, Ron leaned in and whispered in a voice that was way too loud if he really meant not to be heard, “Don’t listen to her, Harry, you know she’s Loony Lovegood.”

“Stop calling Luna that!” Ginny snapped angrily and punched her brother’s arm. It looked kind of painful to Harry, and he winced a little on his friend’s behalf.

Luna, however, didn’t seem perturbed at all. Her pale eyes glinted in serene wonder. “Yes, Harry, your soulmate. Can you remember anything about them besides the song?”

“I… I don’t understand what you meant by soulmate,” Harry said uncertainly.

From his side, Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. “You don’t understand because there’s nothing to understand. Soulmates aren’t real.”

“Why, of course they are real, Hermione.” Luna tilted her head. “It’s so sad that many wizards don’t believe in soulmates anymore. We used to, you know, a long time ago; I think it must have been so lovely.”

“Have you heard about it?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows at Hermione.

The witch huffed and put aside her parchment. “I read about it a handful times, but none of them were from a credible source. Most were written by a mad wizard with outlandish ideas.”

“It’s a good fairytale, though. I think the myth of soulmates is still being told in many magical families. Do you remember when Mum told us that, Gin?” said Ron.

Ginny seemed thoughtful for a moment before snapping her fingers. “Ah! That story about soulmates and dreams!”

“Except it’s not just a story or a myth. Soulmates are real,” Luna said easily, smiling.

From the corner of his eyes, Harry could see Hermione was rolling her eyes again. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was a little curious. “What did you mean when you said my soulmate was singing to me?”

“You don’t know anything about it, do you, Harry?” Luna asked without malice, her tone simply curious. “Your soulmate visits you in your dreams. Everyone has a soulmate, someone that is especially made for them. Someone who is bonded with them forever. They come to our dreams in the hardest times of our lives to console us.” She paused for a dreamy sigh. “Back then, the soul bond magic was so strong that we could easily conjure the image of our soulmates from those dreams. But, unfortunately, the magic of soulmate bonds weakens throughout the years as more and more wizards refuse to believe in it. Now, it’s become really hard for us to feel and identify our soulmates from the dreams.”

“Yeah, because it’s not real,” Hermione hissed under her breath, exasperated.

“It’s real,” Luna insisted, her voice remained as calm and languorous as ever. “The ability to feel the bond varies between people, of course. The stronger the bond, the more you can remember from the dream. If you could remember a song, Harry, I think your bond with your soulmate is extremely strong.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but that still sounds like a made-up fairytale to me,” Ron interjected. This time, Ginny didn’t even try to defend her friend. “So you’re saying people have soulmates but they just can’t tell?”

Smiling serenely, Luna nodded. “Exactly.”

Hermione snorted so hard that Harry had to check if she was okay. 

Harry regarded Luna. “Well, let’s just assume you’re right—”

“I am,” she cut in.

“Yes, you’re right,” Harry relented. “And soulmates do exist. How… how does it work? How can we find our soulmate if we don’t know anything about the person?”

Luna peered at Harry, her gaze meaningful. “Oh, you will know.”

Harry stared back, stunned as a sense of deja vu struck him. Something about Luna tugged at something in his mind. Her light blonde hair, her pale eyes.  _ Oh, you will know _ .

“It doesn’t make any sense.” Hemione’s impatient voice jerked Harry back from his thought.

Ginny sighed. “Well, yeah, no offense, Luna, but Hermione is kinda right.”

Luna just smiled and shrugged. Harry could feel they wanted to end the discussion at that, but he was not quite satisfied. If anything, his curiosity was only piqued even more.

“Wait. If we can’t tell for sure who our soulmates are, isn’t there a chance that we end up getting together with someone that isn’t our soulmate?”

“Mate,” Ron deadpanned. “You’re not seriously believing this rubbish, are you?”

“I’m just curious, okay?” Harry said defensively.

“That’s the most beautiful thing about soulmates, Harry,” said Luna serenely. “Someone in this universe is made just for you, but there’s no obligation to be with them. They don’t restrict you in your life, they’re just there in your hardest times so you’ll never feel alone.”

“Yeah, in dreams that you can barely remember,” Hermione said, unimpressed.

“It’s not about remembering or knowing. It’s about receiving comfort and safety in the times when we need them the most.” Luna tilted her head in thought. “Maybe that’s why people stopped believing in soulmates. Many of us probably never get the experience of being consoled in dreams, never need the comfort.”

Ginny frowned sceptically. “Have you?”

“Yes, when I was nine, after my mum died. I can’t remember anything about the dream, but I could tell that I met my soulmate there. It felt different, so distinctive.”

The distinctive feeling. Harry thought about that time he woke up in his little cupboard on Privet Drive. Then another time when he woke up in the hospital wing after the Triwizard Tournament. The feeling of something sure and warm.  _ Right _ . The moments when his favorite tune echoed the loudest in his head.

“Harry.” Hermione elbowed his ribs.

Startled, Harry turned to her, finding the witch raising her eyebrows judgmentally. “What?”

“You’re not believing all this soulmate crap, are you? It’s not real.”

“I’m not,” Harry said, shrugging in feigned nonchalance.

Hermione gave him a sceptical look but let him go with that.

Truth to be told, Harry wasn’t sure whether he believed it or not. It was a strange concept at best, and the fact that most wizarding community members had decided to abandon it just added to the case. But Harry wouldn’t lie and said he wasn’t at least intrigued. He liked the idea of having someone who would comfort him whenever he needed it, knowing that someone who was made for him was out there somewhere, knowing that he would never be alone.

Real or not, Harry didn’t really care. Thinking that he had a soulmate singing to him when life got too hard felt  _ right _ . Right like the sensation after he woke up from the pleasant dreams he always failed to recall. Right like the feeling his favorite tune always gave him. So he would keep it that way. His friends didn’t need to know, anyway. It was just between him and his mysterious soulmate with the angelic voice.

* * *

**1998**

_ “It’s over.” _

_ Harry didn’t know how long Draco had been sitting next to him. Maybe he had been there all along, constantly living in the sunny garden. Harry couldn’t imagine this fairytale-like place without his presence. _

_ He found Draco was watching him, face expressionless. “I died,” Harry blurted, not knowing where it came from. _

_ “I know,” Draco replied without missing a beat, “but you came back.” _

_ “I did.” _

_ “I would have died with you.” _

_ “Does it work like that?” _

_ Draco leaned back, arms supporting him as he squinted up toward the sky. “If you’re asking about him, no, he wouldn’t die. But I, part of his soul, would. When I said I’d be with you forever, there was no exaggeration in it, you know.” _

_ Now it’s Harry’s turn to watch him, sitting so carefree under the brightly shining sun. He was very familiar, and yet couldn’t be any more different. He thought about Draco, the one outside this garden, and the only images that came to his mind were the gaunt look of his face the last time he’d seen him, the fear in his eyes. And fire. So much hot, scorching fire. _

_ “Does he have this too? I mean, a part of my soul just for him?” _

_ Draco’s lips curved in a smile. “Of course. Why are you asking?” _

_ “I think he might need it.” _

_ “He does,” said Draco. “But he made it. And you did, too. It’s over.” _

_ “I can’t believe I made it,” he whispered. “Many didn’t.” _

_ Draco didn’t say anything, just scooted closer to press his arm against Harry’s, offering silent comfort. _

_ “I don’t know what to feel. I can’t feel anything. It’s like, I should at least be relieved that this whole thing is finally over, but there’s nothing. I just feel empty.” _

_ Still without words, Draco draped an arm across his shoulders. Harry leaned into the touch as he stared toward the far end of the garden, where a huge wisteria tree stood, faintly remembering when he climbed it with Draco in his childhood. It felt like a lifetime ago. _

_ “Remember when my biggest problem was being sent to a tiny cupboard?” Harry asked quietly. “I feel like these days someone has to die before I can see you.” _

_ “You don’t have to see me to know that I’m always here.” _

_ “Yeah,” he sighed. “I know.” _

_ Harry closed his eyes, relishing the tranquility that felt almost absurd after the life and death battle he had just gone through. But Draco was right. It was over. The war was over. _

_ “Will it be easier for us, then, after this?” he asked in a whisper, not wanting to break the serene atmosphere blanketing them. _

_ Draco hummed thoughtfully. “I honestly don’t know,” he said. “As I once said, it’s going to be hard. We have each other, yes, but the fact that we need each other like this—” he gestured to himself and the garden, “—tells me that it’s really not going to be easy. You and I have both gone through a lot; it’ll probably take time.” _

_ Harry regarded him, longing growing in his chest. “But I have you.” _

_ Draco leaned in, ducking his head to plant an innocent peck on Harry’s cheek. “Yes, now and until forever. Always,” he whispered to his ear. “Want me to sing for you?” _

_ Nodding, Harry closed his eyes again and waited for the melody to wrap him in the warmth he had been yearning for. _


	2. Chapter 2

Harry wasn’t sure what to expect when the Headmistress herself ushered the returning Eighth years to one of Hogwarts’ towers, the one closest to the Great Hall. In the name of inter-house unity _ — _ a new post-war campaign she was promoting this year _ — _ all of them would now be crammed into a new space built specifically for them. For the war survivors, they said.

Harry swept his eyes over the moving crowd. There weren’t that many of them coming back for the Eighth year. Aside for him, Ron, and Hermione, the only other Gryffindors who returned were Neville and Parvati. He also saw a couple of Hufflepuffs and three Ravenclaws among them. He wasn’t sure how many returning Slytherins there were, as they walked quietly at the back of the crowd, huddling together, but he had noticed that at least three of them were present earlier: Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, and Blaise Zabini.

After a few flights of stairs, Professor McGonagall stopped in front of the far end wall of a hallway, a huge painting of Hogwarts Castle covering almost every inch of the surface.

She turned to them, peering from behind her wire-rimmed glasses. “As I said before in the Great Hall, you will be sharing this dormitory together from now on. You are now the oldest—and hopefully the most mature—among my students, so I expect that all of you will lead our inter-house unity campaign this year. Be a good example for the younger students,” she said, her voice as calm as ever, but there was a menacing tone under it.

That moment, Harry felt someone staring at his back. Dubiously, he chanced a peek over his shoulder, only to find a pair of pale eyes catching his. Draco Malfoy. He’d seen glimpses of him in the Great Hall during the Welcome Feast, but now, so much closer—with just a few feet between them—Harry could see him a lot more clearly. He seemed a bit rugged up and tired, but Harry supposed that most of the returning students had that quality about them nowadays.

His stare, though, was unwavering even as Harry caught him. Intense. Burning. A shiver ran down Harry’s spine.

In the end, it was Harry who looked away, scared away by the glare Parkinson gave him from Malfoy’s side.

_ What’s up with him? _ Harry thought as his heart beat just a tad faster.

In front of them, McGonagall continued, “Your rooming arrangements were made personally by me, with all the considerations to encourage the spirit of inter-house unity. The list is ready in your new common room. I will accept no complaint regarding that, and I sincerely hope it will benefit you by expanding your circle and broadening your connections.” She paused, throwing meaningful glances around. “With that cleared up, I shall let you explore your new living space as you please. Also, as you’re no longer under the responsibility of the four Heads of Houses, please inform me directly if any problem occurs. Keep in mind that I sincerely hope that no issues will occur this year, especially caused by any of you here. Are there any questions?”

No one raised their hand, and Professor McGonagall nodded in her characterically solemn way. “Good. The password for your dorm is  _ ubi concordia, ibi victoria _ ,” she said, before turning to leave them in the hallway.

Responding to the password, the castle in the huge painting glowed faintly for a moment before dissolving into an equally enormous entrance, showing the room hidden behind it.

“Where there is unity, there is victory,” Harry heard Hermione murmuring next to him.

The common room that welcomed them was not like the one in the Gryffindor Tower. It was just a little bit smaller, which was more than spacious enough for the small handful of them. The furniture was decorated in deep purple and soft grey, a neutral combination from their old houses’ colors. A few armchairs were scattered around the room, with two decent-sized couches in the middle facing a fireplace. Two of the wide walls were covered by bookshelves after bookshelves, likely filled by their upcoming N.E.W.T. essentials. Unlike the cosy and homely atmosphere Harry remembered from the Gryffindor’s common room, this one had a classier ambience—almost luxurious, but not at all intimidating, somehow. If anything, their new shared space vibrated with a relaxing air, the energy in it kind and welcoming.

Which was a total contrast with the commotion, caused single-handedly by Ron, that was happening at one corner of the room where most of them had instantly gathered, flocking around a small piece of paper on the wall.

“I am  _ not  _ rooming with him!” Ron shouted indignantly.

“What is it?” Harry asked as he approached them.

It was Hermione that answered him. “He got roomed with Malfoy,” she said with a shrug. “You’re paired with Zabini, by the way.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. Well, if this was McGonagall’s effort, he had underestimated the Headmistress' seriousness in promoting inter-house unity. “Let me guess, you’re with Parkinson?”

Hermione let out a little affirmative noise. She didn’t seem too bothered by that, but then again, she was always the most level-headed of the three of them.

“Wow,” Harry mumbled. “McGonagall is really serious, isn’t she?”

“This is ridiculous!” Ron shook his head. “There’s no way I’m sharing a room with that prick. Not only is he a pompous git, he’s a Death Eater, for Merlin’s sake _ — _ ”

“Ron,” Harry said warningly to his friend at the same moment that Zabini stepped forward to face the red head.

“You watch your mouth, Weasley,” he hissed. The scowl on his face was admittedly threatening.

“Cut it out, Blaise. Let Weasel fear me as he should.”

Harry turned to the voice. Far from the small crowd, Malfoy stood alone with his arms crossed, leaning on a bookshelf on the other end of the room. His posture was lax but still overwhelmingly aristocratic as he watched them intently with his pale eyes.

“Are you kidding? I’m not afraid of you,” Ron gritted.

“Oh yeah?” Malfoy drawled. “So what’s the fuss, Weasel? I thought you were scared that my evil is contagious. Which, I tell you, it is. You’ll want to stay around for a couple weeks before my Dark Magic can take roots in your soul, though. Would be a great way to bring some glory back to the Weasley blood, if there was any of it in the first place.”

Harry saw in his peripheral vision that Parkinson sent a warning glare at Malfoy, but it was too late. Ron was baited.

“You fucking arse—”

He would have jumped him if not for Hermione bodily restraining her boyfriend. Whispers were heard from other students watching the quarrel. Harry’s eyes were fixated on Malfoy, who stared unblinkingly at a still struggling Ron, his face almost bored, unimpressed.

“No sense of humour, I see,” said Malfoy. “This inter-house unity thing will be  _ really _ fun. Don’t you love the endless optimism of old McGonagall?”

“Draco, stop it,” Parkinson broke in curtly.

Malfoy arched one pale eyebrow and tilted his head, every single gesture mocking. “Sure,” he said and shrugged nonchalantly. “Whatever, Weasel. It might be hard to believe, but I’m here now to properly finish my education, not to play this childishly antagonistic game anymore. If McGonagall requires me to put up with your abhorrent ginger head, then so be it. You can go back to your ratty little home if this is too much to bear.”

Ron was ready to lash out again, and this Harry had to join Hermione to keep their friend at bay. Malfoy was completely unfazed, peeling his lithe body from the shelf he was leaning against and taking his time walking away from the common room, not glancing back even once despite the foul names Ron was directing at him.

“Yeah, this inter-house unity will definitely be  _ fun _ ,” Harry mumbled under his breath.

* * *

It could have been worse, all things considered.

The first week of their return was the hardest. Harry had to barge into Ron and Malfoy’s room at least twice a day to stop an ongoing shouting match. Well,  _ shouting match _ was not exactly the right term, as Malfoy never once raised his voice—which only fueled Ron’s anger even more. The blond would always remain as poised as ever, replying to all of Ron’s insults with his own without trying to restrain the venom in them. Then Ron would shout even louder.

Still, no hex was thrown and no limb was harmed, so Harry counted it as a win for all parties involved.

It took Ron a full week to realize that the only way to keep his roommate’s mouth shut, and by extension to preserve his sanity, was to not talk to him in the first place. Malfoy never initiated any kind of interaction, never bothered to even acknowledge Ron’s presence in general, but he would always have a biting comment ready under his tongue when he was spoken to. It proved to be easier said than done, as Ron had complained to Harry that Malfoy’s mere existence could get to his nerves unprovoked, and Harry sympathized with him. In the end, after three weeks of sharing a bedroom every night, Ron had finally mastered the art of pointedly ignoring Draco Malfoy.

They were still not talking, and couldn’t be further away from forming a friendship, but at least they were not actively insulting each other anymore. It was still inter-house unity when they were united in silence, right?

Among the three of them, Hermione fared the best. Harry didn’t understand how, but she and Parkinson warmed up instantly. It was not uncommon to find her sitting with the Slytherin—or  _ former  _ Slytherin; Harry wasn’t sure if their old houses still applied—in their common room, doing homework together or just talking about what she told Harry was ‘girl stuff.’

Meanwhile, Harry was about in the middle of that spectrum. He wouldn’t say he and Zabini had become friends since becoming roommates, but they were definitely keeping a civil relationship between them. Awkward pleasantries here and there and that was it.

That was why Harry trudged down the staircase from his bedroom to their common room at an ungodly hour of the night. He had been awakened by a nightmare, which occurred too often lately. The darkness of his room suffocated him, too cramped and heavy, but he didn’t feel comfortable enough to wake his roommate by lighting the lamp. So he left the room, tired but completely awake, to find a brighter place—preferably more open and spacious than his tiny bedroom.

At the entrance of the Eighth year common room, Harry stopped in his tracks. It was clear from where he stood that the room wasn’t as deserted as he’d originally expected. Someone was lying on the widest couch in front of the fireplace, one arm and a leg dangling. That blond head unmistakable.

Harry didn’t know why Malfoy would be here this late. Was he sleeping? Did he fight again with Ron? Spurred by curiosity, Harry approached him quietly.

Closer, Harry could see that Malfoy’s eyes were closed, his face illuminated by the orange glow of the fire. He walked closer still, thinking about sending him to his room. That would be a more proper place for him to sleep.

Except Malfoy was not sleeping.

It took Harry a few more steps toward him to catch the sound.

Malfoy was humming a song to himself.

But, of course, it was not just any song. It was  _ that  _ song. That tune Harry remembered from his dreams, the one reverberated in his chest almost every day during the war. The same melody that brought him so much peace and a sense of safety for all these years.

He wouldn’t mistake it anywhere. The sound was so distinctive, the melody unique like nothing else he’d ever heard. And now he was hearing it coming from Malfoy.

Harry let out a choked out noise.

Malfoy snapped his head at him with a start. His hand scrambled inside his robe, seemingly to grasp his wand, before relaxing just a bit at the sight of Harry, standing frozen in front of him.

“Potter?” he breathed, his tousled hair framing his still-surprised face. “What are you doing?”

Harry couldn’t answer him; his brain stopped working at the fact that  _ Malfoy  _ was there, singing his song. His mysterious tune. His good luck charm.

The song, hummed by that baritone voice of Malfoy’s, the voice that was now talking to him.

Luna’s word, spoken to him a long time ago, came to his mind. The word he’d spent months secretly believing, indulgently clinging to.  _ Soulmate _ .

It couldn’t be.

Harry could feel his nerves thrumming. Something surged from deep within him, fierce and soft at the same time. Memories poked at his mind.  _ Bright. It was so bright there, unlike my cupboard _ , he thought.  _ Smelled nice. Lemon? _ His head was reeling. And there it was.

Deep, calming voice.

“Potter?” Malfoy called him again, his pale face contorted in confusion as Harry still didn’t move.

But Harry couldn’t move. Now that he had heard Malfoy humming  _ his  _ song, the song he believed was sung by his soulmate for him, he couldn’t just hear his voice without linking it to that melody. The thing that shocked him the most was how it gave him the sensation of calmness and safety, the same feeling he experienced after every forgotten dream. How it felt  _ right _ .

The feeling clashed with his stunned state, making a very confusing contrast.

“I don’t know what your problem is, Potter, but I’d really appreciate it if you could stop gawking at me like that.”

Harry distantly heard Malfoy addressing him, but he couldn’t concentrate enough to make out his words amidst his own muddled daze.

“Draco,” he breathed without thinking.

He saw the blond widen his eyes at the way Harry uttered his given name, catching him off guard. Harry caught himself.

Where did that come from?

“Malfoy,” he corrected, his voice a little raspy. “What… what’s that song you were singing earlier?”

The grey eyes grew impossibly wider. Malfoy stood abruptly and regarded him with a deep scowl. “Fuck off, Potter, what are you trying to do here?”

Malfoy didn’t actually seem pissed. If anything, that frown was in place to hide his own confusion. Though, he also didn’t seem to be interested in lingering and finding out why Harry was acting so odd. The blond was about one breath away from bolting out.

And Harry couldn’t have that.

“Malfoy,” he tried again, taking a step closer, causing Malfoy to move back by a wider step. “No, Malfoy, listen to me.”

Fear and anxiety flickered in Malfoy’s expression. “What is it?” he hissed lowly, taking yet another step back to increase the distance between them.

_ What is it _ ? Harry didn’t know what it was. All he knew was the _ right  _ feeling flooding his chest at the moment and how much he wanted to just  _ understand _ .

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

A wrong thing to ask.

Harry could clearly feel the pain of how his heart ached at the change in Malfoy’s face. The fear in his eyes was completely wiped away as those grey eyes hardened like steel, the gaze turning ice cold. He was clenching his jaw tightly, his muscles taut. He looked up to meet Harry’s eyes.

“No,” he said curtly. His tone sounded final, but there was something under it. Something harsh, as though intended to keep people away. To keep Harry away.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and briskly walked away, leaving Harry staring after his retreating back. Harry didn’t know if an intangible feeling could break, but that was what he felt at the moment. The feeling of rightness, sitting deep inside him, broke in half as Malfoy disappeared out of the room.

_ No _ , whispered a small voice in his head.  _ Don’t go. Sing for me, please _ .

* * *

_ “I’m sorry.” _

_ Harry turned his face to meet the familiar sight, smiling slightly. “Don’t be,” he said. “You did warn me it wouldn’t be easy.” _

_ Draco sat next to him, leaning against his side to offer his silent comfort. Together, they watched the soft purple petals of their wisteria falling slowly to the ground, one after the other. _

_ “Will he come around?” Harry asked. _

_ Draco hummed. “I don’t think he will, on his own. You’ll have to break his walls down, first.” _

_ “I’m quite good at breaking things, people say.” _

_ The blond’s head shook with a pleasant laugh. “I don’t doubt it.” He was quiet for a few moments before he spoke again, “Are you sure you want it, though?” _

_ “What kind of question is that?” _

_ “Well, you know you don’t have to,” said Draco. “You don’t have to be with him. We both know he’s a difficult one. And you can be with anyone else. It doesn’t matter; I’d always be here with you, the way he will always have a part of you with him.” _

_ Harry planted a lingering kiss on the top of Draco’s head. “But I want it. I want him. I want you, all of you,” he breathed. “Would… would he want me, too?” _

_ He could feel Draco moved to return his kiss on the juncture of his neck. “More than you can imagine, Harry.” _

_ “He walked away,” Harry whispered, remembering the pure wave of pain as he stood unmoving where Malfoy had left him. _

_ “He’s scared.” _

_ “Of me?” _

_ “Of wanting you,” Draco corrected. “Sometimes, you want something that feels too far away. And you want it so badly. It can be really scary.” _

_ “But I’m not far at all. I’m right there.” _

_ Draco chuckled kindly. “He doesn’t know that. The same way you don’t realize that he’s also right there for you.” _

_ “But I’ll know,” Harry said. “Because it feels right.” _

_ “Because it feels right,” Draco echoed him as an affirmation. _

_ A small but genuine smile bloomed on Harry’s face, the ache from the sudden rejection dissipating slowly. It was going to be okay. Draco was here. _

_ Without being asked, a familiar melody from Draco wrapped them both in gentle warmth. _


	3. Chapter 3

“What’s wrong, mate?”

Harry looked up from the Transfiguration book he had been staring blankly for the past five minutes to find Ron peering down at him with raised eyebrows.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been humming that song of yours over and over since this morning. Usually it means that something bad has happened,” said Ron with a shrug. “Is anything up?”

“No, nothing’s happened,” Harry said quickly, which was answered with a sceptical look from his best mate.

“Really?”

“Really, Ron. Just, um… the latest Transfiguration lesson was a bit hard, wasn’t it?” Harry hated how feeble his excuse sounded.

Fortunately, Ron let him go with that. “Okay, then. You know you can always tell me if something’s happened, right?”

Harry could only offer him with a weak smile in return.

If only Harry knew what to tell his friends, but he didn’t. He didn’t understand the dread that had been constantly constricting his chest since his encounter with Malfoy last night. He didn’t know why his mysterious tune could only partly soothe the sudden emptiness he felt blanketing him out of nowhere.

But it was not a mysterious tune anymore, was it? Malfoy knew that song. The only person who knew it. Malfoy sang that song when he thought he was alone.

Was it Malfoy who sang it to him in the first place? Visiting his dreams when he was in his lowest, most helpless state? Was that him all along?

Was that Malfoy who came to his dream last night, after he restlessly laid on his bed while the anguish he felt when the blond walked away overwhelmed him? It almost felt like a rejection of some sort. A rejection Harry couldn’t explain, but it still hurt nonetheless. And a forgotten dream he had last night had cured some of the pain, leaving him with only a dull, lingering ache that wouldn’t go away no matter what.

Harry was so lost in his head that he belatedly realized Hermione was giving him a scrutinizing look from where she sat across from him in the common room, Parkinson next to her. Her stare was a little unnerving, as if she could see through the conflicting feelings Harry was having. Harry frowned at her.

Before Harry could open his mouth to question her, someone strutted briskly toward them, cutting any word that he was about to say.

Malfoy.

The blond didn’t look at Harry—didn’t even seem to notice he was there at all—as he began talking with Parkinson. Harry wondered if he really didn’t see him, or if Malfoy was that good at pretending. Would Malfoy just ignore him after last night?

To be fair, Harry thought that maybe he was acting like a bit of a creep last night, but he couldn’t help it. The surge of feelings and emotions had been too sudden—confusing and overwhelming. Didn’t Malfoy feel anything? If Malfoy was really his soulmate, if soulmates were even real, didn’t he dream of Harry as well? Didn’t he feel any of it? Realize something?

Except of course it might all just inside Harry’s head. Soulmates might simply be bullshit. Myths that Harry had eagerly swallowed because it was a nice thing to believe, to imagine how it would feel if it came true. Maybe Harry had heard his song from somewhere he didn’t remember in his childhood, and maybe Malfoy was the same. Maybe it was just a coincidence, after all.

_ But it felt right, you know it did _ , a small voice whispered in his mind.

And Harry did know, but it still didn’t explain the way Malfoy stood there, his back to Harry, ignoring him. 

“Just give me that bloody book, Pans,” Harry heard him saying.

Harry’s heart throbbed painfully from hearing his voice.  _ Sing for me _ , he wanted to beg, but those grey eyes weren’t even looking at him.

“Fine. You’re such a nuisance, Draco,” Parkinson sighed and got up. The next moment, she ushered Malfoy out of the room in the direction of her dorm.

With Malfoy out of sight, Harry could feel his chest loosen just a bit, letting him exhale a noisy breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He was grateful that Ron had wandered away the instant Malfoy appeared, still dedicated to avoiding his roommate, or else his friend would unavoidably have noticed he was acting weird.

His luck, however, didn’t extend to Hermione. The witch suddenly materialized next to him.

“What was that?” she inquired, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Was Harry so obviously shaken that Hermione felt the need to tone down her voice?

He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you do, Harry,” she said patiently. “And I might, too.”

Harry stared at her with a deep frown. “No, you don’t,” he said, feeling ridiculously offended that Hermione would even suggest that she knew something he didn’t even understand. He wasn’t even sure that there  _ was _ anything to understand.

Hermione put a hand softly on his shoulder and smiled thinly, her brown eyes uncertain. “I might, Harry. Let’s talk tonight.”

* * *

Walking through the empty corridors of Hogwarts at night didn’t feel the same as Harry remembered. Maybe it was the lack of curfew that removed the thrilling sense of rebellion. Maybe it was his growth spurt, which made the castle less enormous from his current height. Or maybe it was simply that some things did grow old with time.

Hermione walked next to him, her steps unhurried. Harry stole a few glances at her throughout their evening stroll, trying to decipher what his friend was trying to tell him. But Hermione was taking her time, turning here and there at every intersection they found, taking Harry to a corner of Hogwarts he didn’t think he had ever been to.

They had reached what Harry assumed was the eastern part of Hogwarts when Hermione led him to climb a staircase to the top of a tower. The view from up there was beautiful; Harry could see the expansive grounds of the Forbidden Forest illuminated by the soft half-moon light, the creatures in it sleeping but the magic eternally alive. As they enjoyed the cold air of night hitting their faces from the huge window on the tower’s wall, Hermione turned to Harry.

“It was Malfoy, wasn’t it?”

Harry was honestly too tired to be surprised. “It was Malfoy what?”

Hermione stared right into his eyes. “The one in your dreams.”

He stared back defiantly at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do, Harry,” she said slowly. “I’m sure you still remember what Luna said to you in Fifth year.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t believe her.”

She smiled thinly, almost sheepishly. “I didn’t, yeah. But I didn’t know better back then.”

“Wait.” He frowned. “So, you do believe, now? In soulmates?”

Hermione sighed and turned her body to face the window, her eyes examining the view below them. “I… I don’t know if I believe it or not. I mean, I’m not really sure, because no one can be sure about it, right? It’s intangible—unable to be grasped, let alone proven,” she said. “It doesn’t mean it can’t be true, though.”

Tentatively, Harry took a few steps to stand next to her. “What happened?” he asked.

“The war happened,” she answered. “And with that, a lot of nightmares followed. But there was one night when the nightmare didn’t come. It was the night after we escaped from Malfoy Manor.”

Harry flinched involuntarily at the recollection. If he closed his eyes, Hermione’s pained screams could still be heard, every single one of them full of agony beyond anyone’s imagination. When that memory came to his mind, or any other traumatic event from the war, he could do nothing but desperately cling to his favorite song, seeking the tiniest bit of comfort that he could get at the time.

Despite his reaction, Hermione continued on without a pause. “Instead, I had a dream so clear and beautiful, yet also so far that I couldn’t remember a thing about it. But I remember the feeling I had in it, because I still felt it in the morning. I can still feel it if I think hard enough about that night.” She threw a glance at Harry. “It’s the same feeling I have whenever I’m with Ron.”

They didn’t say anything for a while, Harry processing her words and Hermione letting him, the chill breeze of the night hitting their faces softly from the window. Harry breathed slowly, just thinking. Was it real after all? Had it always been his soulmate? Did he actually have someone made for him? Was that someone Draco Malfoy? Was it possible for them, two burning fires, to be together? Did it even make sense for them to be destined for each other?

But they were not fire anymore, were they? It had died; the war extinguished it, leaving them as weakly flickering embers. Maybe they could light up each other again. It couldn’t be that bad, burning. It couldn’t be that bad as long as that feeling of rightness was back, as long as Harry could listen to his song outside his unreachable dreams, awake.

“Did you tell Ron about this?” he asked at last.

“I didn’t.”

“Because he doesn’t believe it?”

“Partly, yeah,” Hermione said. “But that’s not the point. It’s not important whether soulmates are real or not. My point is, Harry, that some things just cannot be logically explained. I know, you’re really hearing that from me.” She chuckled to herself. “I realized that there are times when you don’t need to be rational; you have to simply let your gut lead you forward and see where you land.” She raised her hand and put it gently on his beating heart. “It can be scary, but some feelings, no matter how unthinkable, are maybe worth pursuing.”

“It’s not that easy,” said Harry.

“I know.” She lowered her hand with a smile. “I got lucky in that I didn’t have to go far to chase it. Ron has always been there. I can only imagine how it would be with you and Malfoy. But… maybe just try it? You’re hurt from—from everything, and so is he. If it’s true, both of you at least deserve to have each other to heal from all those pains. And if it’s not, if what I’m talking about right now turns out to be just complete nonsense… well, you have nothing to lose, Harry.”

Harry pondered her words carefully. He didn’t really have anything to lose, except that he wouldn’t be able to bear having Malfoy walk away from him again. But then again, it was risk it or deal with this constant ache and restlessness. And by taking that risk, there was a chance it would somehow work. The song would return, his blanket of peace and safety. That did sound like a risk worth taking.

He wasn’t sure what to say to his friend, staring expectantly at him, so he blurted the first thing that flitted into his head. “I thought you hated Malfoy.”

Hermione chuckled. “I did. But I guess everyone is too tired for that kind of thing anymore. What did he say, a childishly antagonistic game?”

Despite himself, Harry laughed. “You’re right, I’m so fucking tired,” he said. “Ron seems like he still has some energy left in him for the game, though.”

“He’ll come around eventually. I know he’s past thinking that Malfoy is inherently evil; some old habits just die hard.”

No, Malfoy wasn’t evil. He had been a bad kid, yes, but these days, his snark and insults felt like a feeble attempt at self-defense more than anything. He was like a snake, curling in to protect himself in his lair, bruised and hurt.

Thinking about him made Harry’s heart squeezed painfully.

“You said I should try it; what exactly do you have in mind?”

“Just try talking to him?” Hermione shrugged.

“Like It's that easy,” Harry scoffed. “Didn’t you see how he pretended I didn’t exist earlier?”

“Well, then,” she drawled, curving a conspiratorial grin. “You’ll have to corner him.”

* * *

By cornering Malfoy, Hermione meant evacuating Ron from their shared room and leaving Harry to deal with the rest of the execution. The room, just like his own, was decently sized, big enough to be occupied by two persons comfortably. As Harry walked in, it almost amused him how anyone could tell straightaway which side belonged to whom. Ron’s side was as messy as Harry remembered from when they shared a dorm in the Gryffindor Tower: the bed was unmade, the desk was covered in piles of random items, and some of those had fallen and were scattered all over his tiny space. But nothing had crossed the invisible barrier that the two roommates created in the middle of their room, which made the contrast from one side to the other even more striking.

Malfoy’s side of the room was immaculately clean. His desk was spotless, all his items organized in an elaborate system, his trunk neatly tucked into the corner. His bed, covered by a deep emerald duvet, looked crisply tidy despite having the owner lying on top of it, reading a thick book silently. And pointedly ignoring Harry’s arrival.

Harry stared at him, his blond head bowed slightly as he read, making his grown out hair fall around his face. The ache throbbed in Harry’s chest at the sight, more urgent and persistent. He wanted nothing but to have those grey eyes on him right now. But Malfoy wouldn’t raise his head.

“Malfoy,” he called.

“Weasley’s out. Granger took him,” said Malfoy curtly, eyes never leaving the book on his lap.

Harry wanted to grab that sharp jaw and turn that head himself. “I didn’t come for him; I want to talk to you.”

Malfoy closed his book with a loud thud before placing it on his tiny bedside table. “Well, seems like you’re out of luck, then, Potter,” he said, his tone cold, still not looking at Harry. “I’m just about to head out.”

_ He will walk away again _ , Harry thought as panic began to rise in him. He couldn’t have that, couldn’t bear another rejection. So, as Malfoy started to leave, he let his body move of its own accord. He grabbed Malfoy’s slender arms and all but shoved him back to his bed.

Surprised, Malfoy squeaked when he landed on the edge of his bed, sitting awkwardly with his legs sprawled in front of him. “What the fuck, Potter?” he hissed angrily.

“Just…” Harry gulped. “Just listen to me for a minute, okay? I want to ask you something.”

Anger glinted fiercely in those pale eyes, and for a moment Harry was sure Malfoy would stand up and shove him back. Or maybe punch him square on the face with how his hands were clenched in tight fists. But Malfoy just glared at him, fuming, and slowly breathed through his flaring nostrils. Inhaled, exhaled. Once, twice.

A few breaths later, his posture relaxed as he slumped slightly, the temper in his eyes dimmed. He looked up to Harry’s looming figure with an impassive, tired expression.

“What exactly do you want from me?” he asked wearily, defeated. He shook his head to get rid of his hair falling to his eyes and Harry was fascinated by how the fine locks swayed back from the movement.

Harry forced his focus back on him, staring at his eyes. “I want to know about the song you sang back then in the common room.”

“What song?”

“You know what song.”

When Malfoy refused to say anything else, Harry sighed and ran a palm across his face. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds before returning his stare resolutely. “This song,” he said and, slowly, began humming his favorite tune.

It was easy to tell that the song meant something to him by how stunned Malfoy was, his jaw clenched and eyes open wide, though Harry couldn’t pinpoint the exact expression. The sound filled the room, feeling a little wrong coming from Harry’s not-so-melodious voice even for Harry himself, and an array of emotions flitted across that pale face in front of him. Was that fear? Disbelief? Astonishment? Harry couldn’t tell, as they went as soon as they came.

The tune stopped and silence engulfed them. Neither boy said anything, both of them staring at each other, trying to make sense of the moment. Harry wondered what Malfoy was thinking.

“I…,” Harry started. “I never catch the lyrics, but I’m certain that’s how the melody goes.”

Malfoy quietly stared at him; his eyes remained unreadable. Every second stretched impossibly longer between them and Harry felt his chest constricted further under his gaze.

Just when Harry thought he would suffocate, Malfoy opened his mouth. “You never catch the lyrics because it’s in French.”

“What?”

“The lyrics,” said Malfoy slowly. “It’s in French. That… the melody you sang earlier, where did you hear that from, Potter?”

Harry’s heart beat erratically as hope flickered softly in his chest. Malfoy knew the song. He was the first person who recognized it.

“In my dreams,” Harry replied. “I heard it in my dreams.”

Just like the last time, the grey eyes hardened like steel, but this time Malfoy didn’t move. He remained in his seated position, neck arching awkwardly to let his gaze bore piercingly into Harry’s. Slowly, he shook his head again. “No. It’s not possible,” he said, voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

“It’s true,” Harry said quickly. “I heard it so long ago when… when I still lived with my Muggle relatives. I heard it again and again during our years at Hogwarts. I heard it in my dreams, I’m very sure. No one knew what that song was before.” He paused and swallowed a lump rising in his throat. “No one but you.”

“No one knows it because my mother wrote it for me!” Malfoy raised his voice suddenly, sending Harry back a step. He abruptly stood up and paced around in the space between Harry and his bed, but never seemed to try to walk away from the room. “What the fuck is going on? Is this a prank? Are you making fun of me?”

Harry caught his bony wrist, stopping him in his tracks. Malfoy jerked away from the touch as if burned. “Listen, please, Malfoy,” he pleaded. “I’m not making fun of you, I promise. But… have you ever heard of soulmates?”

Malfoy’s pale face was flushed pink with his simmering anger, eyebrows furrowed. “Soulmates aren’t real, Potter. That’s ridiculous,” he hissed.

His heart clenched painfully. “Have you—,” he muttered. “Have you ever thought that maybe some things are just meant to be no matter how ridiculous it is?”

“What?” Malfoy scoffed. “Us?”

_ Yes, us _ , Harry wanted to shout.  _ Don’t you want it? _

He almost laughed at his own thought. Of course Malfoy wouldn’t want any of it. Why would he? They were rivals, for Merlin’s sake, childhood nemeses. Thinking about it now, the question should also be directed to Harry. Why would he want it?

For that, Harry didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know why. What he knew for sure was that he did want it, whatever  _ it  _ meant at the moment. Harry wanted the feeling of peace and safety and just  _ rightness  _ to settle back into him. He wanted to finally feel complete, and somehow he knew that Malfoy had a piece of him that would make that happen. 

But Malfoy didn’t want anything to do with him. He’d rejected him once, and he would walk away again now. After that, Harry would have to move on, living his life knowing that he’d almost had something so perfect, so near yet unreachable. Because it was ridiculous. He could feel his eyes sting from the ache seeping to him.

_ This is ridiculous _ , Harry told himself.

With a scoff of his own, he took his glasses and rubbed his eyes rashly. He wouldn’t cry over this, especially not in front of Malfoy. Harry forced himself to take a couple of calming breaths before opening his eyes.

And then Malfoy gasped.

Confused, Harry put his glasses back, staring at him. “What?”

Now it’s Malfoy’s turn to close his eyes, mutely shaking his head. Quietly, he let out a disbelieving laugh. “It’s impossible.”

“What is?” 

“I saw them.”

“What did you see?” Harry urged. Boldly, he took a step toward the blond. Malfoy tensed but didn’t step back.

“Those… those eyes,” he whispered, barely audible.

“Where?” Harry’s own voice matching his hushed tone.

Eyes still closed, Malfoy breathed, “in my dreams.”

Harry’s heart beat impossibly fast; he felt it might burst out of his ribcage any second now. The hope he felt flickering earlier, which almost died completely, came back in full force. “When?” he choked out raspily.

“After I took the Dark Mark.” Malfoy’s breaths were labored as if he had just run miles, eyes squeezing tighter. “I had a weird dream, I couldn’t remember what, but I remembered bright green eyes. The dream came back almost every night last year. Those eyes were the only thing I could recall in the morning.”

Harry couldn’t breathe. “My eyes,” he muttered.

“They could be anyone’s.”

“But you know they’re mine,” said Harry, pressing. “You know. Because it feels right.”

Slowly, Malfoy’s eyelids fluttered open, his gaze catching Harry’s. The grey orbs were burning with something fierce and vulnerable. The fear was prominent, but there were also other emotions. Disbelief. Caution. Resignation.  _ Hope _ .

The hope in his eyes perfectly mirrored what Harry was feeling.

“It feels right,” he echoed absently.

“Draco,” Harry called and tentatively gripped his shoulders. Malfoy, no, Draco’s eyes widened from the touch, but he didn’t jerk away. “Please, please, can you just—” he felt desperation constricted him. “Can you please sing that song to me?”

Draco stared at him, looking lost, his thin lips parted as he breathed in and out noisily.

“Please,” Harry whispered.

Swallowing thickly, Draco nodded, uncertain. A moment later, the song filled the room, reaching to every corner in the silent air of the night. Draco’s baritone voice sang the words Harry could never recognize fluently, melodiously. And Harry just melted right there and then.

The pain in his chest, dull and persistent before, dissipated almost instantly. Replaced by another feeling entirely.  _ It’s so bright _ , his mind supplied.  _ Here, in Draco’s room. _

Draco. Draco. Draco.

_ Oh, you will know _ . Those words echoed in his head, calm and reassuring, and somehow they were spoken in Draco’s voice, not Luna’s as he always remembered. 

Because Draco had said that to him.  _ Not here _ , Harry thought.  _ In the other place. The bright one. _

And Draco was right. The moment that tune was sung to him, Harry knew.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time the foreign yet oh so familiar tune stopped, it felt like the time between them had as well. In Draco’s voice, the song sounded a million times better, like a cold, soothing balm to the wounds Harry didn’t realize he had. Harry was suddenly brought back to his childhood, shoved into a dark and damp cupboard, being yelled at for things he had no control over, scared and lonely. He thought about how that simple song, even when he could only recall the melody of it, had been his sole source of simple happiness and sense of security.

Then he thought about his years in Hogwarts, finally truly alive for once—but the ride was by no means an easy one. And again, that song was always there, helping him through everything, grounding and protecting him.

He thought about all those terrible nights turned so much better because of that song.

And now Harry had found the singer. The singer who had finally sung it to him when he was awake. Not in that bright place, but in his real world, to make it brighter.

Draco bit his lower lip and frowned; he looked so scared and confused, and Harry desperately wanted to wipe that expression of distress from his face. “Potter?”

Harry felt the corners of his mouth curved into a small smile. “It’s Harry for you,” he said, a strong sense of deja vu hitting him.

“Harry,” Draco whispered under his breath, testing the water. “Harry.” Louder this time.

Harry’s smile widened. “Yes, Draco.”

Shaking his head, Draco let out a breath that sounded like an incredulous laugh, but a smile crept across his own face. Warmth spread in Harry’s chest at the sight. “This is absolutely mental, you know that?” he said, laughing a little more.

“Completely aware.” Merlin, Draco’s smile was  _ beautiful _ . “But I don’t really mind some craziness in life. Do you?”

“Normally I’d say I do. But this time… maybe it’s just meant to be?”

Harry’s cheeks hurt from how wide he was smiling. “Because it feels like it is?”

Draco straightened up and met his eyes. “Yes, it does.”

“Come here, Draco,” Harry said, opening his arms.

Like a missing piece of a puzzle, Draco fitted into his embrace perfectly, the lean body no longer tense as he let Harry put his arms around him without any resistance. They stood together for a long time just holding each other, breathing one another in. Draco smelled faintly of citrus and some fancy herbs he probably had in his shampoo that Harry couldn’t identify. More than anything, Draco smelled like a summer day, like a blanket of safety and warmth, like  _ home _ .

Eventually, Draco leaned away slightly from the hug to look down at Harry, meeting his eyes. A disbelieving smile was still attached to his face, but Harry could see something soft underneath it, something that perfectly mirrored the happiness bubbling in Harry’s chest.

“It was a lullaby, you know,” he said softly. “A lullaby that my mother made up for me when I was a child.”

“It’s really beautiful,” said Harry earnestly. Because it _ was _ beautiful, the most heavenly melody Harry had ever heard in his life, graceful and almost royal. When it was sung in Draco’s baritone voice, it felt like all the clouds in Harry’s mind cleared up. It was perfect. “You have a beautiful voice.”

Draco grinned openly, his grey eyes twinkling in delight. “Do I?”

Feeling giddy from everything that happened so fast between them, an intense urge to kiss him overwhelmed Harry. He wanted to touch him everywhere, making sure Draco was actually here with him, real and alive. He needed to make sure that this was not just an elaborate, happy little dream he had conjured for himself after the bleak days of the war.

As if understanding Harry’s desire, Draco’s smile softened and he leaned back in, very slowly. As though giving Harry some time to push him away. But even the mere thought of it sounded ridiculous in his head. Harry had never wanted anything else so badly.

So he met him in the middle, pressing his lips to Draco’s thin ones.

At first, barely any heat was involved. It was the most innocent kiss Harry’d had in awhile. Just a soft peck, a gentle pressing of lips against lips, a silent way to communicate each other’s presence in the moment. Slowly, though, the spark simmered as Draco pushed further to deepen the kiss, hands flying to cup Harry’s jaw and slip into his hair. Harry reciprocated, letting his hands wander to his slender hips.

“Harry,” Draco moaned against his lips.

And it was all it took for Harry to lose it: Draco’s perfect voice uttering his name as though it was a prayer. Like a dam was broken inside him, he surged forward, pushing Draco back, hands desperately touching him everywhere they could reach. He closed his eyes and an image of the bright place flitted through. Thick glass, citrus smelling wind... was that wisteria? And Draco. Just Draco and Draco.

When his eyelids fluttered open, they were met with a pair of grey eyes, peering at him fervently, half lidded. Harry’s stomach tightened at the beautiful sight.

Gently, but still with an air of urgency, he led Draco to his bed, laying him down on top of the thick duvet carefully. Draco didn’t seem to appreciate him slowing down the pace as he grabbed Harry’s wrist and all but pulled him down to fall on top of him. Not a second later, his lips had already found every reachable surface of Harry’s face they could land on, wet and a tad desperate.

“Harry,” he moaned again, but this time his bossy tone was back as his long fingers hurriedly tried, and failed, to get rid of Harry’s robe. A frown appeared between his brows.

His face was so endearing, even in the heated moment, that Harry couldn’t contain a fond laugh escaping him. The blond gave him a look as if he was offended in response and Harry had to laugh harder at that. Deciding on mercy, because those determined fingers hadn’t been successful yet, Harry leaned back to shrug his robe off. The garment hadn’t even touched the floor before Draco pulled him back in, lips back on his and hands finally slipping beneath his shirt to explore where they wanted to go. Soon, it was obvious that Draco was not satisfied with the limited access, and the shirt quickly followed his robe onto the floor.

“Merlin, Draco.” Harry shivered as the other boy’s wicked fingers caressed the bare skin of his stomach, moving further up to teasingly touch his nipple.

_ This is unfair _ , he strugglingly thought with through lust-addled brain. Harry wanted to touch Draco, too. He wanted to touch him everywhere he was allowed. He wanted to see him, all of him.

Because Harry was the man of action, he wasted no time righting the inequity by urgently peeling Draco’s shirt from his body. Draco lifted himself up from the mattress to help him take it off.

Underneath his crisply expensive shirt, Draco’s skin was not flawless. Scars stretched across his chest and torso as if he had been cut open once. Harry stared at them for a moment before the realization hit him.

Draco  _ had  _ been cut open.  _ Harry  _ had cut him open.

Horror seeped through him from the memory, but before he could dwell too much on it, a pair of pale hands cradle his head, angling it up to meet Draco’s face.

“Just look at me,” he whispered. “Don’t stop. Please.”

And how could Harry deny him anything if he asked like that, with his voice pleading and just as perfect as ever? He dove down to catch those kiss swollen lips in his own, silently apologizing as his trembling hands traced the scars on his chest slowly.

The way Draco returned his kiss was enough to tell him that his apology was gladly accepted. And with that, Harry wanted to give him everything. He trailed down the side of his neck, leaving wet kisses and gentle bites all the way, making Draco let out little whimpering noises. Harry kept going, down and down.

When he reached his scars, Harry stopped to plant lingering kisses on every one of them. Draco shivered beneath him. After he thought that he had covered every surface of his pale torso, Harry looked up and said quietly, “thank you.”  _ Thank you for forgiving me, thank you for being here now, thank you for believing in this. _

Draco smiled and threaded his fingers through his curly hair softly, understanding every unspoken word between them. Harry dipped down to kiss his navel in gratitude.

Encouraged by Draco’s nimble fingers combing his strands in soft movements, he explored down further, hands hovering over his waistband for permission. Draco tugged his hair in affirmation and Harry went straight to work. His sleek pants were soon removed.

Harry didn’t really know what he was doing; he had never been with a man before, but Draco’s constant moans were enough to steer him through it. They gave him a clear guide on where to move his tongue when he finally took Draco in his mouth, where to let his hands go, where to touch and caress and make love to. Draco’s moans warned him when he was getting closer and closer. His hand, still tangled in his unruly hair, tugged to pull him away, but Harry couldn’t make himself let him go even if tried. He couldn’t even take one of his hands from Draco’s skin to tend to his own arousal, neglected and still confined in his pants. As he was dragged deeper into the blinding pleasure, he ground his hips down on Draco’s bed, desperately seeking friction from the soft duvet under him.

Draco’s climax, followed by a string of high pitched moans that sounded insanely melodious in Harry’s ears, tipped him over the edge as he let out his own sharp cry.

Still hazy from pleasure, Harry distantly felt Draco pull him up to lie next to him, mouth instantly meeting his again in a soft, languid kiss. After they broke away, Draco maneuvered him to turn around and slip under the duvet before promptly joining him, sneaking his arms around Harry’s waist and leaving butterfly kisses at the back of his neck.

Tired and sated, Harry smiled sleepily when he heard Draco humming the song softly, lulling him in to welcome the sweet embrace of slumber. Nothing felt more perfect than that moment.

Nothing felt as right.

* * *

_ “Harry.” _

_ At the call of his name, Harry turned around to find the blond man leaning sideways against the wisteria tree, his smile so broad it made the edges of his eyes crinkle beautifully. He had his hands behind his back as the soft, citrusy breeze tossed his hair, making it fall around his pale face. _

_ “Draco,” Harry breathed and all but ran toward him. _

_ Draco laughed openly as he got scooped into Harry’s arms. He couldn’t help himself; Harry twirled him around while Draco could do nothing but laughed louder. A few spins later, they both flopped to the thick grass on top of each other, their limbs tangled, the laughter never ceasing. _

_ “Why are you here?” Harry asked, breathless. _

_ “What, now that you got all of me, you don’t want this anymore?” Draco half scoffed, feigning hurt. “Too bad, Harry, you’re not getting rid of me. I’m here forever.” _

_ “Shut up,” Harry laughed again. “You know what I mean. I always met you on terrible nights. I didn’t remember having a bad one this time.” _

_ Draco grinned and looked down at Harry’s face below his. “I’d even say you just had a pretty  _ great  _ night,” he teased, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. _

_ Harry returned the grin with his own. “I guess I did.” _

_ From underneath him, Draco reached out and cupped his jaw fondly. “I’m here now to bid some sort of farewell, Harry.” _

_ “What?” he frowned. “Are you leaving?” _

_ “No, dummy,” Draco chuckled. “How many times do I need to tell you? I’ll always be here with you. This is my place, and always will be.” He smiled reassuringly. “You’ll probably see me less from now on, and that’s a good thing. But it doesn’t change the fact that I would never leave.” _

_ Harry kissed the smiling lips softly. “Thank you. For all this time.” _

_ Draco didn’t answer him. He simply pulled him down to wrap around his body and, quietly into his ear, began singing his song to him. _

* * *

Harry was staring at the clear, blue sky. The weather was exceptionally good today, so he’d decided to drag his boyfriend outside to enjoy the sun. Calling Draco his boyfriend still gave him a wave of giddiness, still only felt half real. Everything was so new and exhilarating, and saying everyone was surprised would be the biggest understatement in history. 

Ron was so shocked when he heard the news that he almost forgot to be mad. Just almost, though. He spent days thinking Harry was pulling a prank on him and having Malfoy help him. The denial stage eventually ended when he belatedly realized it had been a serious thing all along, and then came the anger stage where he would randomly shout at either Harry or Draco, expressing his complete objection. He was currently in what Hermione called the third stage of grief — a term Harry wasn’t a big fan of, because he saw nothing to grieve over in his oddly established relationship —and Harry let her handle him as he couldn’t stand having Ron  _ bargain  _ with him about the situation. He’d once gone so far as proposing to match him with Charlie, instead, because  _ surely there are more male fish in the sea than the git, if that’s what you want? _

The two other Slytherins didn’t take it very well, either. Parkinson was convinced Draco was suffering from some sort of war trauma that made his head not quite right. Harry begged Hermione to deal with her as well, which she generously obliged him in. His roommate, Zabini, was surprisingly fast to accept their relationship, but he still spared his time to pull Harry aside for a super awkward “I’ll kill you if you hurt him” talk. In itself, he sincerely appreciated the concern—he was happy Draco had friends who cared about him—but the threat was not necessary. Harry didn’t plan to hurt Draco, ever.

But, no matter how different people’s reactions were on their abrupt closeness, Harry thought no one could be more astounded than themselves, him and Draco. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, because years of hostility wouldn’t just disappear over one magical night, but he was surprised by how much the two of them were willing to try to make this ridiculously sudden relationship to work. Draco was a genuinely interesting person; Harry realized he had never truly known the man, and he was excited to discover more about him. They would have a lot of arguments in the future, they would fight, but that was fine because he knew they would work it out. Together. 

He tilted his head, situated comfortably on Draco’s thighs, to look at his face. Draco was leaning against an oak tree, the leaves shading his pale skin from sunlight. One of his hands was flipping the page of his floating Potions book, while the other was softly entangling the unruly curls of Harry’s hair. He had been reading tomorrow’s lesson to him, but Harry couldn’t concentrate enough to absorb any information, his mind too busy listening to Draco’s deep, smooth voice. On his tongue, even the most boring list of Potions ingredients could sound melodious.

The voice stopped abruptly. “You’re not listening.”

“I am.”

“Really? So, what’s the importance of fluxweed—”

“I said I was listening, not understanding,” he grinned up innocently.

Draco arched his eyebrows, unimpressed. “I know you’re everyone’s Golden Boy and you probably don’t even need your N.E.W.T.s to secure a respectable job, but it wouldn’t hurt to pretend like you’re trying.”

Harry laughed and shifted for a more comfortable position. “Just keep reading, please, I like listening to your voice.”

“I know you do,” said Draco, exasperated but fond. “Are you going to take another nap?”

As if on a cue, Harry yawned widely. He suddenly felt tired and just content; the sun was warm on his body and Draco’s nimble hand on his scalp was absolutely heavenly. “I might if you keep reading to me.”

Draco sighed but he put his book down next to Harry and, without ceasing the movement of his hand, leaned back and closed his eyes. Softly, he began to sing his lullaby.

The reaction to his favorite song was instantaneous. Harry felt his body relax even further as a gentle throb of happiness spread in his chest. He couldn’t imagine getting used to having Draco singing to him; this experience simply wouldn’t get old. It was magical, serene, and felt completely right.

Slowly, he let his eyes flutter closed. They would definitely make this work.

**Author's Note:**

> 💋 This work is part of the Taste of Smut Fest, a Harry Potter-centered fest dedicated to the five senses: taste, touch, smell, hearing, and sight. 
> 
> If you’ve enjoyed this work, please do shower our content creators with kudos and comments! 💌
> 
> [Please check out the fest's tumblr for more posts and updates](https://tasteofsmut.tumblr.com/)


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